


Quiet Ones

by YesIsAWorld



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Canon, I remember, M/M, Poetry, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-21 23:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13751151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesIsAWorld/pseuds/YesIsAWorld
Summary: Zayn remembers Liam.





	Quiet Ones

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of Joe Brainard's "I Remember" and would not exist without the continuous support of [gettingaphdinlarry](http://gettingaphdinlarry.tumblr.com/) and [myownsparknow](http://myownsparknow.tumblr.com/). Thank you both for being wonderful friends. I love all of our writing talk. Additionally, thank you to [fishingforpeace](http://fishingforpeace.tumblr.com/) for the Britpicking to ensure Zayn sounded British!
> 
>  
> 
> **Please do not post this fic or any of my other fics on any other websites. I'm not currently allowing translations either. Thank you for respecting my wishes.**

I remember our nights wrapped up together. 

I remember you and Aiden sharing a table, sharing fries. You walked by and my heart jumped and fluttered and I felt inexplicably sick. The pit of my stomach was a knotted mess and you were still across the room. I couldn’t believe you were there. 

I remember glancing up quickly. I was always drawn to you. And you were already looking. My cheeks went hot. Yours flushed. And we both looked away after a blink of an eye. Aiden made you laugh. I wanted to know what you found so funny. 

I remember the first time I finally made you laugh. It was a dig at Louis and you looked scandalised and delighted. 

I remember being put in a band. Thinking that I’d never survive spending so much time with you. Then, later, thinking that I’d never survive spending so much time away from you. 

I remember being scared. Panicked about What It Meant. Knowing that if it all worked out, I’d be The Gay One. On top of being The Brown One and The Muslim One.

I remember trying to say it out loud. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it was a mistake. 

I remember looking at other boys, trying to decide if it was true or if it was you. 

I remember the knife to the heart when you talked about her. It felt unsurmountable. All I could do was shove it all down and pretend I didn’t care. 

I remember our first kiss. 

I remember the hitch in your breath. I remember the fear when you pulled away. I remember it was over too soon. 

I remember staring at the outline of your dick whenever we were changing backstage. 

I remember trying to catalogue it and hoping I’d remember later, when I was alone with my sketchbook.

I remember never being able to do it justice. 

I remember everyone joking about it. I remember the four of us pulling it out and comparing. Your cheeks and ears and chest were so red as you refused. I remember tucking back in and trying to play it off like I wasn’t dying for a peek. 

I remember holding my tongue. 

I remember drinking champagne on New Year's Eve. Straight out of the bottle after everyone else had passed out. 

I remember the heat from your thighs next to mine, as we sat with our backs pressed against the hallway. Our fingers occasionally brushed together and how those tiny touches were like a rocket to my dick.

I remember crashing on the couch. The little spoon with you pressed behind me in the small space. Wandering hands. 

I remember eating shrooms with people who I had grown away from and then hiding in a bedroom. You weren’t there. When I called you answered. You said you’d come if I really needed you. I told you I didn’t. 

I remember my parents slow dancing in the kitchen while making Sunday morning breakfast. “Long and Winding Road” playing from the speaker. Was this your memory too?

I remember you losing my green hoodie. I remember you not caring. 

I remember you telling me over and over and over again that you were straight. Liking dancing didn’t make you gay. An interest in fashion didn’t make you gay. Your muscles didn’t keep you from being gay. Blowing me probably meant you were gay. Even if you couldn’t say it. 

I remember your fireplace over Christmas hols. Lying in a V, our heads knocking while we propped our feet up on opposite sides of the hearth. All we spoke about were our childhoods. My feet were sweating from the heat. 

I remember your lucid dreams. Other people’s dreams are boring, but yours never were. 

I remember bringing you home for the first time and how your eyes watered as you ate but you kept on with a smile. I came down in the morning and you were at the table with my parents. I skipped the last step and flew into the doorway trying to catch myself. 

I remember wanting too much. 

I remember the jealousy. 

I remember sneaking kisses in plain sight. I remember sneaking away after our first night. Once you said that your feelings for me snuck up on you. It was like a nuclear bomb for me. 

I remember the lies. The hiding. 

I remember you figuring it out. Eventually. 

I remember more jealousy. I remember the ring and the congratulations and all the goddamn questions. 

I remember locking you out of my hotel room. Pulling the heavy curtains closed. Pulling the duvet up. Pulling my hair out. 

I remember the pain. 

I remember us getting the screws. I remember the regret in your eyes as you fingered the chevrons in the morning. I remember the minutes ticking by when you went to shower. I remember blaming myself. 

I remember the sheepish smile after you figured it out. 

I remember Julian playing “You & I” to us one morning. He was so tentative and we were confused. Halfway through the song you held my hand. I never wanted to let go. 

I remember letting go. 

I remember the despair. Your half-full outlook and telling me it was worth it that it’d get better someday. My half-empty heart and knowing it was worth it but that it wouldn’t get better. 

I remember all those talks with Louis. I made promises I knew I couldn’t keep. I burnt bridges out of fear. I can’t avoid that feeling: desperate not to disappoint, knowing it would happen no matter what. 

I remember the outrage. The tweets. The guilt. “My first heartbreak.” The remorse. The unanswered calls. The negotiations.

I remember the silence. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's a shareable tumblr link if you liked it! xx](http://louandhazaf.tumblr.com/post/172235844966/title-quiet-ones-author-yesisaworld-pairing)


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